Melissa Pace arrives on the literary scene with a thunderclap in The Once and Future Me, a psychological thriller that refuses to stay in its lane. This debut novel is part dystopian nightmare, part psychiatric horror, and wholly unforgettable—a book that will leave readers questioning the nature of identity, memory, and what constitutes sanity in an insane world.
The Labyrinth of Dorothy’s Reality
The story begins with a jolt of disorientation that mirrors the protagonist’s own confusion. Dorothy Frasier awakens on a patient transport bus bound for Hanover State Psychiatric Hospital in 1954 Virginia, with no memory of her past or how she arrived there. Diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic by the hospital’s doctors, Dorothy is told she’s been committed for violent delusions—yet something feels fundamentally wrong about this narrative.
Pace masterfully constructs a narrative that keeps readers as off-balance as her protagonist. When Dorothy begins experiencing vivid visions of a dystopian future where desperate scientists urge her to complete “the mission” and save humankind, the line between madness and reality becomes increasingly blurred. The arrival of Paul Frasier, claiming to be her loving husband who understands her condition, should provide clarity—instead, it only deepens the mystery.
The genius of Pace’s storytelling lies in how she layers revelation upon revelation, each one more unsettling than the last. Dorothy isn’t just Dorothy—she’s Bix Parrish, a soldier from 2035 sent back in time to prevent a catastrophic virus called “the Guest” from wiping out humanity. The psychiatric hospital becomes a prison, her supposed husband reveals himself as an enemy agent, and her “delusions” transform into a desperate mission to save the world.
Character Study: The Fragmented Self
Dorothy/Bix: A Hero Born from Trauma
The central character work in this novel is nothing short of extraordinary. Pace creates a protagonist who exists as multiple selves—Dorothy the confused patient, Bix the hardened soldier, and the mysterious “voice” that guides her actions. This fractured identity isn’t just a plot device; it’s a profound exploration of how trauma reshapes the self.
Dorothy’s journey from helpless victim to empowered agent of change is both believable and inspiring. Pace shows us how institutional psychiatry in the 1950s could strip away a person’s identity, while simultaneously revealing how that same stripped-away self might be the key to salvation. The electroshock therapy scenes are particularly harrowing, written with clinical precision that makes the reader feel every volt of Dorothy’s suffering.
Paul/Stokes: The Perfect Predator
In Paul Frasier, Pace has created one of literature’s most chilling antagonists. Initially presented as a caring husband trying to help his sick wife, Paul’s true nature as Stokes—a time-traveling operative from a fascist cult called the Tabula Rasa—emerges gradually and horrifyingly. His manipulation of Dorothy through false memories and gaslighting represents a particularly insidious form of abuse that feels disturbingly contemporary despite the 1954 setting.
Stokes embodies the dark potential of love as a weapon, using Dorothy’s need for connection and stability to remake her into a compliant version of herself. His admission that he found her vulnerability “quite the turn-on” reveals the sadistic pleasure he takes in breaking down someone who was once his equal.
The Science Fiction Elements: Grounded Speculation
Time Travel with Consequences
Pace approaches time travel with refreshing scientific rigor. Rather than hand-waving the mechanics, she creates a system with rules, limitations, and brutal consequences. The neural damage caused by temporal displacement, the tethering devices that prevent travelers from being lost in time, and the gradual revelation of how the technology works all feel grounded in scientific possibility.
The time travel serves the story rather than dominating it, functioning as both a literal plot mechanism and a metaphor for how trauma can make someone feel displaced from their own life. The “white roar” that accompanies temporal jumps becomes a visceral representation of dissociation and memory loss.
The Guest Virus: A Plague for Our Times
The dystopian future Pace creates feels unnervingly plausible. The Guest virus, which kills everyone over 25 while leaving younger people to rebuild civilization from rubble, serves as both a clever plot device and a commentary on generational trauma. Written during a global pandemic, the novel’s exploration of how society might collapse under viral pressure feels particularly relevant.
The virus’s two-stage nature—initially asymptomatic in children, then universally fatal to adults—creates a scenario that’s both scientifically plausible and emotionally devastating. The image of a world run entirely by people under 25, struggling to maintain basic infrastructure and civilization, is haunting in its implications.
Institutional Horror: The Real Monster
Hanover State Hospital as Gothic Nightmare
Pace transforms the psychiatric hospital into a character in its own right, a Gothic monstrosity that devours its patients’ identities. The descriptions of the electroshock therapy unit, the isolation cells, and the general atmosphere of medical authoritarianism create genuine horror without relying on supernatural elements.
The novel’s portrayal of 1950s psychiatric treatment is historically accurate and deeply disturbing. Sherman’s protocol for “treating” Dorothy—essentially erasing her personality through repeated electroshock—represents the worst excesses of mid-century psychiatry. The fact that this horror is presented as medical care makes it all the more chilling.
Mary Pell: The Scientist as Martyr
In Dr. Mary Pell, Pace creates a compelling secondary character who embodies both scientific integrity and personal sacrifice. Pell’s willingness to undergo torture and feign catatonia to protect crucial information about a virus sample demonstrates the novel’s theme that sometimes heroism requires appearing powerless.
The relationship between Dorothy and Mary provides some of the book’s most emotionally resonant moments. Mary’s recognition of Dorothy as a fellow time traveler, and her ultimate sacrifice to provide the information needed to save humanity, gives weight to the mission that drives the entire plot.
Writing Style: Psychological Realism Meets Genre Fiction
Pace’s Distinctive Voice
Pace writes with a style that perfectly balances psychological realism with genre elements. Her prose has the clinical precision needed for the medical scenes and the urgent energy required for the action sequences. The internal monologue work is particularly strong, capturing the confusion of memory loss and the gradual return of identity with remarkable authenticity.
The author’s background in television writing shows in her excellent pacing and scene construction. Each chapter ends with either a revelation or a cliffhanger that propels the reader forward, yet the momentum never feels forced or manipulative.
The Voice in the Head
One of Pace’s most effective narrative techniques is the “voice” that speaks to Dorothy—presumably her original Bix personality fighting to resurface. This voice serves multiple functions: it provides exposition about the future world, creates internal conflict, and represents the part of Dorothy that refuses to be domesticated by her oppressors.
The interplay between Dorothy’s confused thoughts and the voice’s urgent commands creates a unique narrative texture that keeps readers as disoriented as the protagonist while still providing necessary plot information.
Thematic Depth: Memory, Identity, and Power
The Malleability of Memory
At its core, this novel is about how memory shapes identity and how those in power can manipulate both. Dorothy’s memory loss serves as an extreme example of how losing one’s past can make one vulnerable to those who would rewrite it. The question of whether her memories of the future are real or induced becomes secondary to the question of who has the right to determine another person’s reality.
Institutional Power and Individual Agency
The novel’s critique of institutional psychiatry extends beyond historical accuracy to comment on any system that claims authority over individual experience. Sherman’s insistence that Dorothy’s memories are delusions, regardless of their ultimate truth, represents the broader problem of institutional gaslighting.
Dorothy’s gradual reclamation of her agency—from helpless patient to active agent—serves as a powerful metaphor for resistance against oppressive systems. Her final choice to complete the mission, even knowing it might cost her the chance at a normal life with Worthy, demonstrates how true heroism often requires personal sacrifice.
The Romance Element: Love in Dark Times
Worthy: The Good Man
In Deputy Worthy, Pace creates a love interest who represents genuine care without manipulation. His recognition of Dorothy’s intelligence and agency, even when she appears to be mentally ill, provides a stark contrast to Paul/Stokes’s possessive control.
The relationship between Dorothy and Worthy develops organically, built on mutual respect and shared danger rather than manufactured chemistry. Their quiet moments together—imagining a future of hamburgers and lemonade—provide emotional relief from the novel’s relentless tension.
The Cost of Connection
The novel explores how forming emotional connections can both strengthen and endanger those involved. Dorothy’s love for Worthy ultimately becomes another factor she must consider when deciding whether to complete her mission. The possibility of staying in 1954 with him represents not just personal happiness but a kind of moral choice about whether saving the future is worth sacrificing present joy.
Areas for Consideration
Complexity vs. Accessibility
While the novel’s intricate plot and multiple reality layers are intellectually satisfying, they occasionally risk overwhelming casual readers. Pace manages this complexity skillfully, but some sections require careful attention to follow the shifting timelines and identities.
The Science Fiction Exposition
Though generally well-integrated, some of the future world exposition feels slightly forced, particularly in the early chapters where Dorothy’s visions need to convey large amounts of background information quickly. However, this is a minor issue in an otherwise well-crafted narrative.
Cultural Impact and Relevance
Mental Health and Medical Authority
Published in an era of renewed focus on mental health treatment and medical ethics, the novel’s portrayal of psychiatric abuse feels particularly timely. The questions it raises about medical authority, patient autonomy, and the definition of sanity resonate with contemporary debates about mental health care.
Gender and Power
Dorothy’s transformation from victim to agent also functions as a feminist narrative about reclaiming agency in systems designed to strip it away. Her final rejection of both Sherman’s “treatment” and Stokes’s “protection” represents a broader statement about women’s right to self-determination.
Similar Reads and Literary Context
Readers who enjoyed The Once and Future Me might appreciate:
In the Science Fiction/Time Travel Genre:
- The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger – for its emotional approach to temporal mechanics
- Dark Matter by Blake Crouch – for its exploration of memory and reality
In Psychological Thriller Territory:
- Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn – for its exploration of trauma and unreliable perspective
- The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides – for its psychiatric hospital setting and twist revelations
- We Were Liars by E. Lockhart – for its memory loss and gradual truth revelation
For Historical Medical Horror:
- One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey – for its institutional psychiatry critique
- The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath – for its authentic portrayal of mental health treatment in the 1950s
Final Verdict: A Spectacular Debut
The Once and Future Me succeeds brilliantly as both an entertaining genre-blending thriller and a serious exploration of identity, memory, and institutional power. Pace has crafted a novel that works on multiple levels—as a time travel adventure, a psychological horror story, a romance, and a social critique.
The book’s greatest strength lies in its refusal to choose between emotional truth and plot complexity. Dorothy’s journey feels both personally meaningful and globally significant, grounding the high-concept elements in genuine human emotion. The resolution, while satisfying, leaves room for readers to contemplate the larger questions the novel raises about sacrifice, identity, and the nature of heroism.
For a debut novel, this represents an remarkable achievement. Pace demonstrates remarkable control over a complex narrative while maintaining the emotional authenticity that transforms plot mechanics into genuine human drama. The book establishes her as a significant new voice in genre fiction, capable of bringing literary depth to speculative elements without sacrificing either accessibility or entertainment value.
The Once and Future Me is destined to be one of those rare books that appeals equally to genre enthusiasts and literary fiction readers, a crossover success that proves the artificial boundaries between “serious” and “popular” fiction continue to erode. This is essential reading for anyone interested in the future of genre fiction—and a strong contender for year-end best-of lists.
